


A Lover’s Death

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bellatrix Black Lestrange Lives, Complicated Relationships, Established Relationship, F/F, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Her whole life, people have been beating and digging their way through Narcissa’s chest careless to the damage it causes. Bellatrix has been the one to hold her heart in, keeping it tucked within despite the gaping wound that threatened it. Bellatrix still thought it was this way. She doesn’t understand that the past years with Hermione and Draco have started to close that hole. Bellatrix thought she was doing what she’s always done, help Narcissa.





	A Lover’s Death

There is no such thing as a simple time. To desire simpler times is the desire of ignorance, stupidity. The only times things are simple is when life is seen through the lense of a child or a fool. Narcissa has never been either.

Childhood, was not simple. Not in the house of Black, the house of nightmares and expectations. She never had the luxury of being a child, despite Bellatrix’s dearest attempts.

In her attempts to soothe Narcissa’s life, Bellatrix has only succeeded in ruining it. Complicating every corner of Narcissa’s life until she is left paranoid, knowing. She knows. She always knows. She knows that the letter laying in her hands is no simple letter. No letter written in her sister’s hand could ever be as such. No letter that radiates the scent of Hermione’s shampoo could ever be.

Considering she has not seen Hermione in a fortnight, and that an official search has begun, she knows she is right to take a moment. That the time it takes to press her finger to her mouth with muted horror is not a waste but a necessity. 

She is about to discover the fate of her wife, she is sure of this.

Her fingers shake as they grip the letter opener, she’s nervous. She’s scared. She hears the cries of Draco’s son downstairs, his laughter mixing with Luna and Ginny’s. No one has laughed since Hermione went missing, the somber mood smothering them all. He’s let his son and the joy of his love for him, take away some of the pain. He doesn’t know. That’s his blessing, the one she can give. He doesn’t have to know everything, not like her. 

She can give him this moment, to laugh with his child and close friends, while she opens the letter.

The words are thick and ugly, ink that was held too long to the paper. They’re bleeding words, words that run into one another. 

_Do you remember when that animal married the spawn of our sister? You shuddered with revulsion and cursed the messenger! It moved me! We were always like minded Cissy. We know what is right and what is wrong, we know that our sister is depraved for loving some mudblood and letting her spawn run off with a beast. My heart broke when I overheard some guard talking about your marriage. YEARS AGO! Years you’ve been married to a creature so below your station. I don’t know what she did to you, what the Order or Ministry has, to make you so. I’ve always protected you, Cissy. I always will. I took care of things._

The frayed thick card slips out when she sets the envelope down. 

It’s Narcissa’s old tarot cards. The cards she had kept on her at all times when she was young. Cards that Bellatrix would let her use, play at divination when she was too young and inexperienced to fully understand. They weren’t just Narcissa’s, the cards were theirs. Something they did together. 

She flips it and feels her throat close.

She feels the words settle beneath her ribs. The image burns across her eyes. She knew what the letter would contain but she still hoped. Hoped, that there was some chance she was wrong and Hermione is somewhere out there. Bellatrix has robbed her of that hope. The sob breaks the silence of the room but it goes unheard.

Who’s there to hear it when Hermione is gone?

Who’s there to run a hand down her back, kiss her and tell her that it’ll be okay? Who’s there to love her when the world is silent to her pain?

Draco, downstairs. He would help but she can’t let her only son see her like this, so broken. She is his mother, she is meant to protect and guard. Despite her reservations, her silent promises, another sob breaks free._ I took care of things_ repeats as an unending mantra. Not a threat, not a promise, a past event. A history, something Narcissa cannot stop.

Narcissa’s shoulders shake, her chest expanding and contracting. 

There is no fire lit in the room, nothing to melt the chill that wrecks her body.

The letter falls to the floor and she covers her face with her hands. She will let herself have this moment, this moment to fall apart, before she does what must be done. She will let herself cry so that she can be strong for the others. Harry will need someone and she cannot count on his friends to be there for him, not when they too will fall apart. She can grieve, in this moment, to protect them.

Then she will do what must be done. 

She will go to Azkaban.

The tears are warm but she’s sure this will be the last time she feels such a thing. Her life shall chill just as Hermione’s body has long since gone cold. 

She falls apart.

Then, she gets up. She fixes her makeup and robes, beating her stray hairs into submission until she is looking flawless. When she looks unbothered and put together, she leaves the room.

Scorpius is stumbling along his first attempts to walk, all tiny legs and an infant’s irresistible urge to explore. Draco doesn’t notice her approach immediately, his face scrunched up with unadulterated joy. She hesitates, wonders if it would be better to wait. To tell him later, when it wouldn’t ruin this day for him. But, she knows. She knows he would hurt if she hadn’t told him as soon as possible. He loves Hermione, he has searched tirelessly, to not tell him would be cruel.

“Who knew my grandson would walk better than my own son.”

“Harry pushed me into the wall I didn’t walk into it mother, you know this.” His smile widens at her words but falls when he catches sight of her. “What’s wrong?” 

He can tell with only a look that something is wrong, even though she spent so long putting herself back together. “I got a letter.”

“Was it about Hermione?”

Narcissa mulls over her words, debating how to say it. She swallows some, things no one should hear. “Bellatrix sent it.” She sees the moment he understands her words, the implication. He grips the back of the couch to keep himself upright.

“Is she dead then?”

“She didn’t specify but I believe so. I’m going to Azkaban.”

“Is there a chance she just took her?” He looks so young in that moment, so hopeful. She hates to be the one to dash it.

“I don’t believe Bellatrix would send any indicator unless she was sure of Hermione’s fate.”

A choked sound comes from Ginny’s throat while Luna tries to comfort her. Draco picks Scorpius up and in a few moves, is by Narcissa’s side. 

“You don’t have to go alone.” Draco tells her. The youth is gone, sharp edges carved into his face. A man made before his time. It strikes her how young he was when she first saw him become a man, someone used to responsibility and trauma. How many friends has he lost? When did she fail him, when was the exact moment his shoulders grew to accommodate the weight placed upon them?

“I do.” She tries to smile, to reassure him. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a hug. She pressed her lips to the top of Scorpius’ head and tries to keep her facade in place.

She doesn’t linger, she has a prisoner to visit.

She wonders how Andromeda can still breathe, after having lost so much. To have lost a husband to the war, a child to their sister, and a son all no time to mourn. Had she gone to see Bellatrix? It’s something they don’t speak of. How could they? When Bellatrix still rests within Narcissa’s heart, tucked away in a dark place of love, nestled deep beneath her breast? Andromeda can hate her, hate Bellatrix for her treatment and murder of Tonks. Is Narcissa to hate the one person who she has never been able to?

The stone is unchanging in their sorrowful greys. The sun is out, shining as if everything is okay. As if Narcissa isn’t dying the slow death of heartbreak.

The cell door stands before her.

She takes in one last breath of clear air and enters. 

“How could you do this to me?” She seizes Bellatrix by her grimy uniform and shoves her against the wall.

“Hello to you too, Cissy.” Bellatrix looks pleased to see her and it causes Narcissa to shove her against the wall harder.

“You killed her.” Narcissa’s hand flexes, almost twitching into a fist, but one flash of her father’s face is enough to keep it open.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Bellatrix’s grin is cruel and amused, she knows exactly who Narcissa is talking about.

“My. Wife.”

“Did you finally get my letter? The prison mail system isn’t as good as taxpayers might think.”

“Why?” She came here for answers and she’ll get them, even if her words come out more a plea than a threat.

“Why what?”

“Bellatrix!” 

“You haven’t called me that in some time.” Bellatrix is right, for years it’s been Bella. Narcissa can’t seem to find it in herself to call her anything but her name. It isn’t Bella who ripped away the woman she loves, that is all Bellatrix. It can’t be the Bella who would lay beside her when the nightmares kept her awake. It most certainly cannot be the Bella who would let her determine her fate through their cards. Who would always go along with it, even though Narcissa would only ever predict happy things for Bella and that’s not how divination works. Not how life goes.  
She refuses to taint the Bella in her mind, it must be Bellatrix. It’s the only way she’ll survive. “When have I ever needed a reason to anything I do?”

“When it comes to me.” Bellatrix looks more lucid at Narcissa words, a little less like the ghost she’s become. As much as Bellatrix is her exception, she is Bellatrix’s. She knows that true, even now.

“That’s exactly why I did it.” Bellatrix’s hand covers Narcissa’s hand, still holding the fabric tight. “She would have ruined you.”

“She loves me.”

“Like Ted loved Andy?” Bellatrix’s face twists into a dark sneer. The lucidity fades like it never existed. Her Bella so far away. “You knew better then. You know that their union was a disgrace. I disowned her, as did you. It could never be that simple with you.” There’s that word again, simple. As if disowning a sister who is so precious to them was ever really simple. Regaining Andromeda’s friendship, their connection, proved just as complicated.

“So you killed her? To what, protect the Black name?”

“To protect you! She was tracking mud into your life. Sullying your name, everything you’ve worked for, dirtying you. She couldn’t remain. I had to get rid of her to protect you.”

“What did you do?” She almost doesn’t want to know. Part of her doesn’t want to hear the details of how someone she loves destroyed another person she loves.

“I made sure she’d always be with you. You love her, I realize this, as disgusting as it may be.” Narcissa’s body locks up, freezes at the familiar words. She knows where the conversation is headed before Bellatrix even says it. “I made sure Alice would always be with me. Just as I did for you. She’ll always be with you now, without ruining you.”

Narcissa wants to kill her. She wants to scream and cut and burn until all that’s left is another dark mark on their tree.

She can’t.

She hates this most of all. Even after Bellatrix has robbed her of her happiness, of the woman who had made her feel the first trickles of joy since Voldemort had laid eyes on Draco, she cannot finish it. No matter how many times she bashes Bellatrix against the rocks, even if she clings to her uniform with the fury of a widow twice over, she cannot say the words.

Her hand can never fully close over her wand. 

She can never kill her sister.

She can’t because she knows Bellatrix, she knows them. Bellatrix spent their entire childhood protecting her, favoring her. To expect anything else would be to forget who Bellatrix is.

Her whole life, people have been beating and digging their way through Narcissa’s chest careless to the damage it causes. Bellatrix has been the one to hold her heart in, keeping it tucked within despite the gaping wound that threatened it. Bellatrix still thought it was this way. She doesn’t understand that the past years with Hermione and Draco have started to close that hole. Bellatrix thought she was doing what she’s always done, help Narcissa.

Instead, the thin membranes and healing flesh tore beneath Bellatrix’s claws. She dug through until she met the beating scarred heart hiding beneath. Rather than laying her hand against it, holding it in place, she ravaged it. Bellatrix believes she holds her heart but the truth is, Narcissa has finally had it taken. Taken, by the one person most dedicated to protecting it. 

She can’t kill Bellatrix because her hand, buried in her chest, is the only thing keeping her from bleeding to death. 

“You won’t kill me.” Bellatrix sounds sure, her body lax under Narcissa’s hold.

“By your logic, wouldn’t you always be with me?”

“Yes. But then who would you have?” The words hurt, they land with a thousand stabs. Is she mistaken? Was this a calculated attack, meant to isolate Narcissa? 

“She protected you. They all wanted you executed but she argued for Azkaban. She did it for me.”

“I bet you wished she hadn’t now.” Somehow, Bellatrix keeps finding the words that hurt the most.

“How can you be so cruel to me?” Bellatrix has never been cruel to her, not truly. Certainly she’s lost her temper, she’s been mean, but she’s never been so cruel. The ruthlessness of Bellatrix’s murder, her lack of remorse, and the pride of which she converses Hermione’s death all point to such a cruelty. “I will not kill you but I do not forgive you. I will never forgive you. I will never come to see you again.” At her final declaration Bellatrix’s eyes widen and she jolts forward but Narcissa has already turned to leave her. 

“Cissy!” She does not slow or stop at Bellatrix’s call. If she does, she may never leave. As is, she feels like she might truly perish. The brokenness and desperation in Bellatrix’s words call to her. Beg her to stay. She could fix it, she could buckle down and swallow her hate for her dear sister. She can’t. She can’t because she has no heart left to give her sister. Bellatrix has taken any chance of forgiveness.

Her stride doesn’t slow until she’s pushing through the doors, until she walks out into the thick sticky heat. The sun is shining bright despite the oppressive muggy air. She tries to take a breath in but can’t, the wet heat only drowns her. It’s like trying to breath in sweat. She apparates away, her usual quiet pop cracks like lightning. 

She hides in the doorway of a small house when she appears, the sun hiding behind rolling clouds. The yard is maintained and the cars are absent from the driveway, children are laughing and playing a silly muggle game. Hermione’s parents aren’t home but it suits Narcissa fine. She opens the door and shakily wanders into Hermione’s childhood room. It no longer smells of her wife but she still finds herself surrounded by her. 

She’s sweating when she reaches into her robes, pulling the card free. Even though her fingers are damp and shaky, the card doesn’t absorb the liquid. Spells and laminate repel the water and preserve the card. Despite her wards, the edges still fray. All things do.

The wand is longer than most, so long it curves into an imitation of a sickle. Bodies are piled below the thestral, bodies of every house. The reds of Gryffindor run with blood, the greens of Slytherin glow with the killing curse, the blues of Ravenclaw rob the face of young, and the yellows of Hufflepuff sickly infection. All houses, muggleborn and pureblood, lay broken and dead beneath the tread of the thestral and its rider. 

At first glance, the rider would look no different than her old card. A skeleton clothed in robes rather than armor. Except, Narcissa knows what her wife looks like. Even when nothing more than bones. She knows the curves and dips, the way she wears her robes different now than it had been. It’s casual, her sleeves pinned up. Her Holyhead Harpies scarf wrapped loosely around her yellowed bones. If perhaps, Narcissa couldn’t tell just from those details, Bellatrix made it apparent by the crude carving in radius. 

Narcissa presses her lips to the card, lipstick leaving their mark. 

She knows arrangements must be made, Aurors must be told what happened, and Hermione’s friends and family must be informed as well. She isn’t quite ready for that.

She only has the emotional energy to sit in a place so full of Hermione.

She didn’t remember wearing such red lipstick.

Except it’s not lipstick.

She rocks back in surprise in pain, a hiss escaping her lips. She drops the card, hand grabbing her wrist. 

_You’ll always be with me._

Red letters carving themselves across her forearm, etching their way to her very being. She knows that hand writing, knows who’s marking her this way. Her gut feels like it’s being sucked out, pulled and pulled. She breathes out, trying to breath against this consuming pain. She lands beside the card on her hands and knees, blood coating the card and floor. 

Death shines ominously, a fate she hadn’t expected from her sister.

Her head spins furiously, direction becoming a thing of the past. 

It’s not just her stomach. Her whole body feels as if it’s being pulled, compacted. She feels like McGonagall looks when sliding between something tight as a cat. 

She slams her eyes shut and hopes the Aurors find her before Draco. She hopes they rally around him, give him the support they’ll need.

Her last thoughts are of Draco, her son. Hermione, the warm love she always feels when she’s with her. Andromeda, the sister she’s still finding once again. 

Bella, the girl who she loves. 

Bellatrix, the woman who she can’t hate.

She opens her eyes to another world. It’s yellows and oranges, swipes of unnatural colors. It looks like the broad strokes of a paintbrush. Everything looks think and pastel, nothing it like before. She looks at her hands and finds them the same. Not human, not as she understands it. A painting, images of what was.

“You weren’t supposed to end up here too.” Hermione’s voice calls out from ahead of her. Narcissa sees the pained expression of her wife, or as pained as the few colors will allow her to look.

“You’re here?” Narcissa wonders if a person can grow a heart back, or if Bellatrix just took the liberty of shoving it back inside.

“I made a deal, you weren’t supposed to end up here.” Hermione’s close but Narcissa doesn’t feel the warmth like she might have once upon a time.

“What deal?” 

“Myself, so you could stay out there with Draco and the others. I played her, you would have been proud. I made her think it was all for her, she could keep you out there and I’d be in here.”

“I’m afraid I messed up your plans, darling.” Narcissa runs hand over Hermione’s cheek. It doesn’t feel like skin, it’s wet and tacky. After weeks of thinking she’d never see Hermione again, never feel her again, she keeps her hand there. “Where are we?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione takes Narcissa’s hand with nothing short of heartache in her eyes. She presses her lips to Narcissa palm, pulling her closer. They meld, paint trading and rubbing off on one another. To touch is to be in danger, to love is to threaten each other’s existence. “We’re not dead, we’re Death.”


End file.
